I’ve spent the week between diagnosis and admission to hospital in a mix of preparing mentally, tying up as much as I can at work and fitting in as many gym visits as I have been over the month.
What’s really annoying is that I’m a third of the way through a 3-month fitness challenge which I’m enjoying. This won’t merely be a pause. It’ll be a stop and re-start in a few months, while I recover from the surgery and possibly undergo chemo. I’m trying to convince myself that a super-successful surgery will mean only a few treatments so I can get back to normal life fairly quickly thereafter. At least I’m physically strong to aid my recovery.
Taking up a friend’s suggestion, I subjected myself to a photo shoot in case case I wouldn’t get another chance before I lose hair. The (heavily pregnant) photographer kindly made a plan and squeezed me in the day before my surgery. I was at home gluggling Movicol – a gag-inducing medicated concoction Merlin couldn’t have created – to clear out my system throughout the day so I had not much to do and the shoot was a positive distraction.